


when I still have me

by EmeraldSage



Series: take my faith (but I still believe) [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Forced Marriage, Implied Tragedy, M/M, On the Run, Power Imbalance, Road Trips, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Relationships, Wanderlust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:34:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27038794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldSage/pseuds/EmeraldSage
Summary: Alfred's been running from his past for years, letting his feet take him where they will on his quest to see the world.  But one quiet morning respite sees him reuniting with the face of the past he's trying to outrun.The past that still doesn't understand why he ran in the first place.
Relationships: America/Russia (Hetalia)
Series: take my faith (but I still believe) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1973422
Comments: 14
Kudos: 46





	when I still have me

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [At World's End](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/701284) by amygirl. 



> **Note:** It's not the same verse as amygirl's "At World's End" but has a similar premise. I've just been absolutely in love with that fic since I found it years ago, and that I've finally brought myself to write something inspired by it - however tragic the series will be - just makes me happy. If you have not read it, I _highly_ recommend it.

The park was quiet. It was the not-quite middling hours of the morning, transitioning into the world’s waking hours. The sky was a muted watercolor, burning from the faded streaks of early dawn to the vibrant wash of morning as the sun climbed. Soft bird song echoed through the air, gentle chimes carried to the park’s lone occupant on the loving breeze.

Alfred watched the world stir, sitting, legs crossed at the knee, on the old ashy gray wooden bench. It was one of the many that speckled the winding trail that wrapped around the sprawling park at the heart of the old city he’d taken refuge in this month. His oversized knit gray pullover and the hooded jacket he’d worn over it kept him warm as the chilly late-autumn breeze whipped around him. The soft blanket tucked around legging-clad legs was rune embroidered and some heat still lingered from where it had lay warming near the hearth in his room this morning. Mitten covered fingers wrapped tightly around the travel mug, filled with fresh hot chocolate, kept warm with a rune. It had been a treat from the innkeeper’s youngest daughter, who’d laughed with him the night before as they swapped stories by the fire, telling him about how she’d discovered her secret recipe.

The sun climbed higher, and the sky blotted in splotches of grays and whites, like a portrait of winter to come. Alfred tilted his head back and let the wind dance around him, smiling at the way it tugged at his hair, tucked away under the clumsy knit gray cap. The chill brushed like an icy caress against the nape of his neck, and he shivered, but paid it no mind.

It was too peaceful to let such a thing bother him. But, perhaps, he would wrap a scarf around his neck for the road to come.

A frown tugged on his lips, and he sighed. He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to forsake the small measure of comfort, of  _ routine  _ and peace that he’d found in this small, serene little town on the edge of the mountains. He hadn’t had that in a very long time.

It had taken him a long time to find joy after - well. After.

But he didn’t have a choice. He’d already lingered too long.

It was perhaps the greatest crime that had been committed against him, he thought. There had once been no greater joy for Alfred than when he traveled. The wind in his hair, dancing against his skin as he chased it to all the ends of the earth. The familiar feeling of trekking unfamiliar paths, worn into existence by travelers just like him. Of learning new lands and cultures and magics and  _ peoples.  _

The feeling of having nowhere to be, and everywhere to go, with nothing holding him back… it was like he was flying, weightless, in the sky, and the world opened up to welcome him. It was an airy, bubbly, intoxicating delight that subsumed him, that called him forwards to go and explore like his ancestors  _ millennia  _ past. That set him free from all that would bind him.

There was always a new horizon to explore. Colors to discover and rediscover, over and over and over again. Symbols to learn and trace and grow. Happiness to partake in, sorrow to share, and joy to carry with him, to lighten his footsteps as he pushed onwards.

Alfred wanted to see the world.

And then, he lost it all.

A bird chirped at him, cheerful and delighted as it dipped past him on the breeze, bringing him out of painful memories with a smile. Even as the ever-chilling breeze brushed against him.

Well, he supposed, smile curling tightly, he hadn’t completely lost it all. Perhaps he had, once. But he’d left those binds behind with his wedding ring and bonding band. Left them all behind in a past he was constantly running from. Left that world behind so the road could take him up once more. Like it had, before - well. Before.

He let his eyes slide shut, tilting his head back and allowed the gentle serenity of the park to curl seep into him like the warmth of a hearth fire.

Perhaps now, while he still had some time, he could plan. He had to decide where he was heading next, and maybe even figure out where he would spend the winter. Maybe, if he got far enough ahead, he could overwinter in one place. It would be nice not to have to move mid-winter, when the snows were at their heaviest, and the world seemed to white out around you. This high up in the mountains, there would be no way he could make it into the valleys or to the sea before winter hit.

Not to mention that the mountain cities and strongholds were safer for him. Sealed off for the winter, no one would be able to find him until the spring thaw. He could replenish his stock for crafting in the ice caves, and hunters were always appreciated during the lean times.

Perhaps a detour through the southern mountains, he mused, as the breeze tweaked his already pink nose, and he blinked back into the world. Looking down into the chocolate ripples, he smiled. It would throw off his pursuers, before he headed up north.

He’d have to linger a little longer in town, if he could afford it though. To replenish his supplies before he headed off. Or, if he couldn’t risk it, perhaps the next town over.

Something to think about.

Footsteps, soft like the faintest crunch of morning frost under boots, drew him out of his musings. He didn’t tense, or draw away. He just kept looking into the depths of the still warm, still full mug of hot chocolate, as if contemplating something within the chocolate swirls.

“You’re a hard person to find, darling,” a familiar voice announces, its owner sliding onto the bench at Alfred’s side without much ado.

“That was rather  _ the point,  _ you know,” he replied without hesitation, not even bothering to look at the interloper as the other pressed closer. Closer, and closer still, until there was a line of heat pressed tightly against his side. An arm snuck around the back of the bench, cradling his shoulders as a hand curled possessively into the soft material of his jacket. He ignored it. It would move soon, as it always did.

Alfred shifted, stretching out his legs and crossing them at his ankles. The ends of the blanket that had come loose with his movements trailed, kissing the frost nipped gravel paved path under his feet. He looked at the other man out of the corner of his eye.

“I suppose I should be honored,” he said dryly, “you haven’t come yourself in over a year.” He studied the other for a long moment, eyeing the regal travel outfit that spoke of status and wealth and hid the strength beneath its cloak. He eyed the bonding band, gleaming and lovingly polished, and a perfect match for the one he’d left behind. He sighed, “You haven’t changed a bit.”

He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or just resigned.

His husband shifted, turning to face him, smiling a little as violet eyes scanned him, “And you’re still as beautiful as the day I married you.”

“Flatterer,” Alfred replied, flatly. It wasn’t a compliment. His grip on the mug tightened, just as the arm that had sneakily wound around his waist did the same.

“You’ve been missed,” Ivan said, voice soft and gentle, like it had been when they sprawled together on the rooftop gardens and watched the stars. Like it had been, the first time they’d made love instead of just had sex. Like it had been, the first time Alfred thought he might be in love with this man.

Like it hadn’t been, the night it all fell apart.

The terribly sad part - aside from  _ all  _ of it - was that Ivan wasn’t a  _ bad  _ husband. Entitled certainly. Ivan held all the power in their relationship, and it had always been that way. There were no illusions that it would ever change, and as much as Alfred had hoped they would grow into something more resembling a partnership, he’d known that as well.

But he wasn’t a  _ bad  _ husband. He was sweet, when it was just the two of them. A little awkward at the beginning, but he’d been sweet and kind and gentle. And maybe a lot of it came from Ivan getting what he’d wanted from the start, but he hadn’t been nearly as demanding as he could’ve been, at first. He never forgot birthdays or anniversaries. They weren’t incompatible either, nor lacking in passion. They were both able to debate each other to the stars and beyond, not even to mention the evenings they’d spent together stargazing. Just - being together. It had been - not easy, but not bad. And Alfred had thought, with the rest of the world denied to him,  _ maybe this could be enough for me.  _

But it was never that easy.

Because Ivan  _ could  _ be a good husband. But he  _ had  _ to be a good king. And that meant Alfred saw more of King Ivan, then his husband Ivan. And while the two were technically the same person, they couldn’t be more different towards Alfred. King Ivan never had time for his husband. Had no respect for his wild consort, whom he’d tricked into marriage and stolen away into the Northern realm. Had no care for the way his people spoke of his young spouse, or how Alfred tried to deal with their vitriol with optimism until they’d crushed it so thoroughly that he couldn’t bear the pain of it anymore.

King Ivan had to be strong, uncompromising, and unyielding.

And that meant that Alfred could never be his priority.

It meant that Alfred gave and gave and gave, until he could give no more. And even then, they demanded more of him.

And he broke. Broke, but refused to shatter.

So he swallowed, mouth set tight. And said, “Sorry, I don’t think I can say the same.”

He wasn’t though. Sorry, that was.

Ivan’s expression tightened but didn’t shut down. Good. That was good. It meant Ivan wasn’t already irked with him, and ready to drag him back and fuck the consequences. It meant that Ivan would draw it out, lean on persuasion to coax him into coming back.

Alfred could work with that.

“I suppose I could understand that,” the monarch allowed graciously, and Alfred twitched with the restraint it took to bite back  _ exactly  _ what he thought about Ivan’s  _ understanding.  _ “Have you been enjoying yourself?” his husband continued, and Alfred forced himself to relax.

“The old city is beautiful,” he said, and his husband’s lips twitched at the non-answer.

Ivan hummed, “Have you been out here for long?”

“Since dawn,” he said, having no problem admitting it. Ivan had been watching him since he’d left the inn.

“You haven’t touched your drink,” his husband noted idly, and Alfred smiled, tired and heart-sick in ways that hadn’t changed in years.

“Of course not,” he said, “you had the innkeeper drug it when his daughter wasn’t looking. I’m not going to fall for that one again.”

The less that was said about that time, the better.

“Why not make it easy on yourself, darling,” Ivan beseeched him, eyes never moving away from him even as Alfred stared blankly into the swirls of his drugged drink, “take the drink. Let me take you home.”

“It is not home for me,” he countered, voice quiet. He shifted the mug in his hands, fingers seeking the warmth as a shiver danced down his spine. “It never has been.”

For the first time, signs of frustration became visible on Ivan’s face. The way his jaw firmed, or the corner of his eyes tightened, spoke to it easily enough. For one who could read him, anyways.

“You’ve never given it the chance to become home,” his husband said, voice dark and unhappy. And Alfred felt like  _ laughing,  _ laughing until he cried, because of all the ironies there were in the world - 

_ Never gave it a chance, hmm?  _ Like the very thought of it hadn’t set the adrenaline pumping through his veins. Like the place Ivan had ordered him to call “home” had ever  _ earned  _ the title. Like the castle on the mountainside, filled with its decadence and deceptive warmth, had been anything but a golden cage. Like the people they sheltered had ever considered him more than a pretty bauble, no matter how hard he tried to be otherwise. Like their words hadn’t been dripping poison into his veins the longer he’d stayed. The longer Ivan did  _ nothing  _ to stop them.

Like it wouldn’t have killed him, if he hadn’t run.

Like it hadn’t already killed him, in a way he wouldn’t ever recover from.

But still, Alfred said nothing. Ivan wasn’t in a mood to be reasoned with. Alfred could scream about the injustice, about the heartache, about the poison he could still feel in his veins that pulsed through him at the very  _ thought  _ of returning to that gilded cage. It wouldn’t affect his husband at all.

He didn’t understand, and there was nothing Alfred could say that would help him.

_ He’d tried. Oh, how he’d  _ **_tried._ ** _ Running had been a last resort. _

_ No. No, that’s not true.  _ Running had saved him from something worse. Worse and terrifying, with how close he’d been to that edge before he’d decided to go home instead. To leave everything behind, with the husband who’d never understood him, no matter how hard he’d tried.

So still, Alfred would say nothing. And still, Alfred would keep running.

The sun crested in the sky, the breeze danced around him, growing ever colder, and the park around him rustled with the soft comforting noise he’d come to enjoy.

He bit his lip, fingers clenching tightly around the mug unseen. It was time for him to go.

The park was no longer safe for him.

He shifted away from Ivan, breaking away from the iron grip the other man had on him, and settled the mug down - still full, he thought ruefully - in the new space between them.

Ivan frowned, “Darling?”

Alfred smiled, a small, tired thing, “Alfred,” he said, causing Ivan to blink. “My name is Alfred.”

Ivan raised a pointed brow, “I’m well aware of that,” he drawled. Ivan had been the one to write his name into their marriage contract, years before Alfred would ever become aware of it.

“I’d wondered,” he said, instead of retorting as viciously as he’d wanted to, “since you’ve never once used it.”

Ivan frowned, mind mulling over that odd topic change, “Does that matter?” he asked, after a moment of silent thought.

“It does,” Alfred replied, thinking of the names they called him behind his back in that cage of a castle on the mountain. Of the honeyed words Ivan called him when he was stretched out on their bed. Of the titles he was given, when he married, that fell out of people’s mouths like poison and insult all the same.

Of his own name consigned to memory alone. To never be heard, banished like the ghost of a choice someone had made for him.

Of the first time after he’d fled, taking his meal in an inn's tavern, and hearing his name called out in the open air. Of being a person, with a  _ name,  _ rather than a treasure, or a title, or a bauble.

Alfred’s smile was drawn, “You wouldn’t understand,” he added, and knew it was and wasn’t true. A man of Ivan’s status understood the power of titles. But he’d never been in Alfred’s shoes. He didn’t know what it meant, to take someone’s name. To lose your own.

Alfred did. He knew it, intimately.

He unwrapped the blanket around his legs, shivering a bit as the chill seeped through his leggings now that the warmth of the fleece had gone, and folded it. Tucked it away in the bag that had been sitting at his side, just out of Ivan’s line of sight. And stood.

Ivan was already standing when Alfred turned to him. He caught hold of one mitten-clad wrist and used his free hand to cradle Alfred’s face.

“Alfred,” he said, voice firm, and Alfred felt an odd sadness curl inside him at the knowledge that this was the first time Ivan had used his name since he’d said their bonding vows, “it’s time to come home.”

“No thanks,” Alfred said, and for the first time that day, he allowed a smirk to curl on his lips, “I have other plans, actually.”

Ivan’s face darkened, and he could see the way his words were disregarded in those violet eyes. His husband scoffed as his grip tightened, “My people have this entire town circled. You won’t get very far if you try and leave, darling.”

_ And it’s back to “darling” again,  _ he sighed. But that was okay, he knew better than to expect anything else at this rate. And as for Ivan’s  _ people  _ \- 

Alfred almost laughed. He’d gotten out of far worse situations before.

_ Spinning. The world was spinning. Why was he dizzy, he hadn’t drank anything. Just the water, where was the water? Why was it - something shattered on the floor. Oh, he’d dropped something - but. What had he dropped? Why did he drop it? Something was wrong. _

_ Wobbling on his feet, he heard the door open and felt arms catch him up. They held him in a bridal carry. They’d done this before. Familiar arms. _

_ Why wasn’t he running? Why wouldn’t the world stop moving? Why were his eyes closing? _

_ “There you are, darling.” _

The road was Alfred’s home, and the world opened up to beckon him onwards. Perhaps there was less joy in his heart as he went, a consequence of the past that followed him with every step he took, but even running from something - some _ one  _ \- couldn’t take it away from him.

“At the very least, I’d try,” he shrugged, pulling away from his husband’s growing vice grip. Watching the man force himself to let Alfred go, knowing that trying to hold him any tighter would trigger the promise in their bonding vows. “I’ve been pretty successful so far.”

_ To keep safe from any harm - even that from my own hand.  _

He shouldered his pack. The same one he’d carried for years, wandering the world as his feet took him where he needed to be.

Before the trick. Before the marriage.

Before.

Alfred would spend his entire life running if it meant he would never have to go back to the place that broke him and dared him to reforge himself as anything other than what they wanted. And if Ivan hadn’t learned that in the five years the man had been chasing him, then it certainly wasn’t Alfred’s problem.

He took a step away. And then another. And then another. Until he was moving through the park and into the city, away from his husband. Away from his past.

And onwards, once more. Towards his future.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Edited (01/2021):** Oh my god y'all, this fic now has fanart!!! Over the moon to link y'all to this amazing human's work. Put up here in the notes with permission.
> 
> We've got the [Comic](https://i.imgur.com/7yFiG1M.png), [Outfits](https://i.imgur.com/T5vHKoS.png), and [Fun Idea](https://i.imgur.com/V2S5SD7.png) by [Siriuce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siriuce/pseuds/Siriuce). Please note those are nicknames I gave them, and not the Artist's title for the work. But seriously y'all, please check them out!!! Seriously in love with those outfits btw.


End file.
